


Champagne Perfect

by mijeli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Boys Kissing, F/M, M/M, Narcissa POV, Post-War, Snark, brandy helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mijeli/pseuds/mijeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa is a diplomat. Draco's birthday dinner is still awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally written for the 2012 Glompfest)
> 
> A prompt asking for Lucius' "snobby self" grudgingly accepting his son's relationship with Harry Potter ... yeah, that was too good to pass up on. ;-) This setting immediately popped into my head, and I wouldn't stop hearing Narcissa's voice until I let her tell the story. Hope you enjoy!

///

Narcissa Malfoy is a diplomat, and thus she opts for: "Mr Potter, kindly pass me the salt?"

All eyes follow the porcelain figurine, picked up by Harry Potter's hand and ending up in hers. Narcissa seasons her plate with deliberate aplomb then looks up at her husband. His mouth is pinched as if something on his own plate possessed of a particularly nasty taste – had he touched enough of it to judge.

"Don't you like it, Lucius, dear?" Narcissa asks, putting her own fork down. "I'm sure Whinny won't mind skipping to dessert."

Maybe the mentioning of the house-elf was a wrong move? Lucius straightens in his chair.

"There's no need," he replies curtly. When nothing follows, Narcissa smiles and takes another bite. Venison with seasonal vegetables and a dash of that luxurious chutney Andromeda sent them: it's good, but nothing too fancy. Of course she'd discussed the menu with Draco first. A task that, she takes pride in recalling, had taken considerably longer than expected when most of her ideas were nipped with, "Harry won't even know how to cut that".

Venison, they'd agreed, venison would work even when one had spent half their life inside a cupboard.

"And how about the chutney?" she had asked her son. "Andromeda sent it just the other day from India."

Draco had frowned, looking like his adorably petulant five-year-old self. "He likes Andromeda. I suppose that will work."

A reasoning that Narcissa knew better than to disagree with. 

So venison it is, and so far Mr Potter seems to know his way around cutlery and napkins. He's even helping himself to more chutney.

"It's delicious, isn't it?" Narcissa addresses him. "Andromeda sent it from Delhi. She must be tasting herself through its adventurous kitchen."

Mr Potter looks up and smiles politely. "I can imagine that only too well."

"Aren't you looking after her grandson in the meantime? After Ted?"

"I am."

"Such a delightful child." Narcissa carefully scrapes the additional salt off her meat. "Isn't he, Draco?"

Draco looks up in confusion, but covers it up quickly. "Yes," he agrees, "though vomiting in my shoes yesterday wasn't too delightful of him."

Mr Potter picks up his wine glass; really he's just hiding a grin.

"You gave him too many sweets," Draco informs Mr Potter.

" _I_ did? Clearly he liked the ones you gave him better."

"Well, opposed to you I do have exquisite taste."

Now Mr Potter is openly grinning. "Yes, in your loafers."

Narcissa watches the exchange with rapt interest: every little nuance could trigger either relaxation or calamity at the table. It's been a while she listened to Draco and Mr Potter in such an intimate setting – she's not sure how much her son's world-famous partner can get away with.

A lot, apparently, judging by the reluctant smile spreading on Draco's face.

"The loafers from Italy?" Lucius chimes in.

The grin slips off Draco's face. "Yes," he admits, quickly adding, "they were old."

"I remember you quite liking them."

"I did – I do. I cleaned them." Draco is now doing the chin-raising, a gesture Narcissa has always admired in both her son and husband. It makes them eerily alike.

Lucius sneers. Mr Potter spoons up chutney.

Narcissa decides it's time for more wine.

"Now," she says after Whinny has left with their plates, "isn't it time for a toast?"

///

Clinking glasses never leaves less than three or more than ten seconds of peace at a dinner table.

"The papers are unreliable these days," Narcissa says, folding her hands in front of her. "Yet I can't help wondering. Is it true you're completing Auror training in record time, Mr Potter?"

Mr Potter – it's never been "Harry", and he stopped insisting – looks distinctly embarrassed. He even casts a side-glance at Draco before straightening and giving Narcissa a forced smile. "Not at all," he says. "In fact, I took longer than Ro- than my friend Auror Weasley. They just like a good story, don't they?"

"Indeed they do." Narcissa smiles back. She can let him act the modest man, if that's what he wants.

A strangled sound to her left makes her turn her head. Lucius, who has so far refused to acknowledge the conversation, is looking sourly at his polished napkin ring. "Did you say something, dear?" It's a necessary display of respect to ask. Whatever her husband has to say certainly won't contribute to the mood.

Lucius raises his head, not looking at her, but at Mr Potter. "Nothing," he says. It sounds as insincere as it is.

Narcissa smiles at Mr Potter again. Might as well distract him from Lucius and Draco glowering at each other.

"In any case, how lovely an outcome for Auror Weasley. I did read about his marriage; please, give him and Mrs Weasley our best."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy." And it's never been "Narcissa", either. 

" _Your_ best, Narcissa." Lucius' voice is cold and quiet, a particular tone he once excelled at. Like many things, it sounds a bit worn-out. "You see, I don't believe in—so young a marriage."

"We married young, love."

"Yes." He lifts his chin. "You were an impeccable pure-blood witch."

At a different time, or perhaps under different circumstances, Narcissa would be offended at his words. As it is, of course this is Lucius' petty way of expressing dislike – towards the Weasleys, the Muggle-born née Granger, and most of all their alliance. He doesn't go out enough.

By the look on Mr Potter's face, he's offended on her behalf.

Narcissa is nothing if not quick to act. With an elegant flourish, she sweeps her re-filled wineglass into her lap.

"Oh my—" She laughs softly. "Not so impeccable, after all!"

Draco, ever the good son, is already on his feet. "I'll get it," he says. "Careful, don't cut yourself." With a quick Cleaning Charm, Narcissa's robe is rendered midnight blue once more and she thanks him with a smile and soft squeeze on his arm. As she looks up, she finds Mr Potter has repaired the glass and repositioned it upon the table.

"How clumsy of me."

Lucius purses his lips then barks, "Whinny, more wine!"

Draco resumes his seat, exchanging a glance with Mr Potter that Narcissa doesn't miss. Mr Potter's posture is tense and he's obviously uncomfortable – perhaps that's why he so readily accepts more wine from the house-elf. He might have thanked her a little louder than necessary.

"Are master and mistress and their guests wanting dessert?" Whinny asks, nervous hands knotted into her shirt. The cloth is new and freshly cleaned, the threadbare ones discarded just this morning.

"That would be lovely," Narcissa answers for all of them.

"Oh, I'm completely full," says Mr Potter. 

Draco raises his eyebrows at him. "It's the champagne parfait, you have to try it."

"I'll have a bite of yours."

Lucius' head snaps up at this and Narcissa feels her own curiosity piqued. Draco doesn't share - he's never been good at it. Yet he doesn't seem appalled at the idea, just shrugs his narrow shoulders and rolls his eyes. Something like a small smirk appears to be tugging at Mr Potter's lips. 

Lucius drains his glass.

"Three desserts then, Whinny, and an extra spoon," says Narcissa. More smiling and she'll feel it in her face tomorrow.

With a _pop_ Whinny Disapparates. She's left the wine bottle on the table and Narcissa makes a mental note to give her a day off for her foresight.

It's silent for minutes. It's not comfortable, to say the least.

Narcissa shoots a pleading look at her son, hoping he'll take the hint and start a conversation – she's slowly running out of ideas. Or was it patience?

Those two wrinkles appear on Draco's brow, right where the curve of his long nose meets pale blond eyebrows. It doesn't look as crass now that he's decided to wear his hair longer, but it's still visible. Narcissa cocks her head. Draco glances to his left.

"Pansy and Blaise send their regards," Draco says. Narcissa isn't sure they really do. "We went to the Golden Gate yesterday, I don't know if I told you?"

"You didn't," Narcissa replies. He might have told them. "Do they still serve their delicious goose? At the restaurant, I mean, not Ms Parkinson and Mr Zabini." She chuckles quietly.

"I think so, though we didn't dine. They just wished to congratulate me on my birthday."

"In other words, get you drunk", Lucius pipes up. If she didn't know better, Narcissa would say the idea appals him; however, mentioning his own stock of brandy would not be a diplomatic move right now.

Draco fidgets with his napkin. "Of course not," he says. "Surely, a glass of wine among friends doesn't qualify as 'getting drunk'."

"Surely."

Narcissa considers kicking her husband under the table. She almost apologises to Draco when she catches Mr Potter moving his arm and notices a slight change in his posture, as though he was leaning towards her son. Draco looks at him and relaxes almost instantly. 

Whatever is transpiring between them, Narcissa isn't sure her husband would want to watch it.

"Lucius," she says in her sweetest voice, "I much desire a drop of your Bluebell's Finest. Would it be too much to ask Whinny to bring it?"

This time, it's the right thing to say, because Lucius does that little thing with his head that shows he's pleased, and he calls for the house-elf. As she appears, her husband even turns to their guest. "Draco, Mr Potter?" It's just a casual offer, but it's still better than his performance of the past hour and Narcissa smiles gratefully. 

Bluebell's Finest brandy is what the name suggests. The taste is rich and warms the belly. It goes well with dessert and from the corner of her eye, Narcissa watches Lucius' face relax. Opposite them, Mr Potter is scooping up some of Draco's champagne parfait then hums with satisfaction.

"Good, isn't it?" Draco's smile is brilliant.

"Merlin, it's _perfect_."

Draco nudges the plate with his elbow, so it's a little closer to Mr Potter. Narcissa's belly warms some more, and she hasn't even finished her brandy. Lucius leans back in his chair, looking more content than he did all day. Maybe this is the time to end this awkward birthday dinner.

Cue her last act, then.

"Draco, why don't you show Mr Potter upstairs for a bit? Your father and I have some final preparations to do." She smiles. "For the gift."

Mr Potter grins at Draco – looking devilish, and that can't be good. Draco's actually blushing. Narcissa almost laughs out loud.

"Sure," Draco mumbles. "Thank you for dinner, mother."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," adds Mr Potter. "It was fantastic." Not that she's the cook, but Narcissa nods her acknowledgement anyway.

Once they've cleared out, Narcissa shoots her husband a look, and he returns it. It's moments – looks – like this that make her heart open up a little in gentle fondness. Lucius won't thank her for it, but she reads the gratefulness in his clumsy movements as he drags himself out of his chair and leans heavily on his walking stick.

His knee hasn't been the same since Azkaban; it was to be expected. Inviting Mr Potter to the Manor had been awkward, even uncomfortable most of the time. But Narcissa won't tolerate the alternative. 

"Are there any preparations I forgot about?" asks Lucius.

"No," Narcissa replies. "I just wanted to give them a moment. You saw how it was getting too much for Mr Potter, didn't you?"

Lucius nods curtly and makes his slow, cumbersome way to the door. Narcissa is smoothly out of her chair and by his side, not quite supporting her husband but holding on to his elbow as if it was him leading her. They've got good at this. They have time.

///

When Narcissa goes upstairs a little later to fetch Draco and Mr Potter, she walks firmly, not to sneak up on them. The door to Draco's old room is open; at least they're not _that_ kind of busy.

She approaches the door frame and peeks inside. Draco and Mr Potter are standing by the window, close but not touching, and they're talking in quiet voices.

"It's his knee again. Don't mention it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"And not in a fit of rage, Harry—"

"I promise, okay?"

Her son's shoulders aren't drooping – his posture is always immaculate – but he's standing across from Mr Potter like someone who wants comfort and isn't going to ask for it. It's something mothers give, of course, not lovers.

Harry Potter knows no such hesitance. He steps closer and wraps his arms around Draco, fiercely, not tenderly like the lyrical embrace in romance. He hugs Draco like he's not afraid to crush him. Narcissa's chest is swelling: it's exactly what she wants for her son.

"I'm sorry."

Mr Potter chuckles. "You knew what this would be like."

"So did you. And yet you came."

"Of course." Mr Potter has this way: of sounding like there wasn't a question to begin with. His appalling certainty and bluntness seem to anchor Draco just like his arms.

Wonders never cease.

Then they're kissing, and they're going about it as though they'd waited all evening to do it. Most likely they have. With a slightly embarrassed smile, Narcissa pulls away from the door – better leave them at it for now. The evening isn't over yet.


End file.
